


Persona

by notourmoniker (notyourmoniker)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Experimental Style, F/F, F/M, Jungian Archetypes, Multi, persona (1966)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourmoniker/pseuds/notourmoniker
Summary: Nurse Mary Margaret Blanchard is charged with the care of Regina Mills, a patient admitted for refusing to speak or move. As her care progresses, both find that the lines between them have begun to blur. Inspired by the 1966 film Persona.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Persona

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the 1966 film Persona by Ingmar Bergman. It is first and foremost a SnowQueen fic, using Persona to explore Snow and Regina’s connection. However, it will lift some of the structure, plot, and even dialogue from the original film. It will not be a recitation of Persona supplanting the original characters for OUAT characters
> 
> You do not need to have seen the film to enjoy or understand this fic, but given the inspiration it will be experimental in places with an emphasis on the themes addressed in the movie.

It’s dark, like sitting in a theatre before the curtain lifts and the lights come on. Slowly, something comes into focus in the distance. 

Fire. 

It’s fire. 

It’s burning the bottom of the curtain, bright and white. Sweat beads on her forehead, and she claws at her face to get it to stop. But pulling her hands away she sees threads beneath her fingernails. 

The fire has stopped. Behind her the projector flicks, a repeated and measured flit, flit, flit, as the end of the reel spins over again and again. 

In the distance there is the ring of a bell, an alarm maybe. 

Then the room is white. Blinding. She isn’t sure it’s a room at all. All around her are flashes of black and grey and red. 

A rotting apple. Flies landing on it one, then two, then a dozen. Crawling, humming, eating the spoiled fruit. 

A couple in bed and a snake slithering up between them, coiling around the man’s leg. 

An arrow flying fast and hitting the center of the target. 

A horse. 

A horse. It’s running in a field. Faster and faster it runs, light shining upon it so bright it seems white, silver in the sun. She is the horse, the rider, the one chasing the horse and begging it to slow. 

And then it does. Lightning. 

It falls, whinnying and screaming in pain. A leg is broken, dangling only by skin and sinew, bone thrashing and knocking up dust. 

There is no sound. 

Coming up to it, one step, two step, she reaches for it - hand stretched out to offer some ease, some comfort. But then there is a knife in her hand and she slits the horse’s throat watching the blood spill out and onto the ground, dark, dark, dark. 

Bending down, she tastes it. A sip. A drink. A gulp. It is sweet and strong. It tastes like life, like poison. 

A child starts crying then. The noise is so close, as if their mouth is pressed against her ear, moist and soft. She turns, but when she does she can only see the child’s arms, outstretched, reaching, as its body disappears into the pages of an open book. Grey pages and smudged words. 

She blinks. The curtains open. 

*

Her heels clicked against the linoleum as she walked to the end of the hallway. Lights behind her, stretching all the way down the long corridor, dimmed and turned off as she moved away from them. The lights in front of her buzzed and hummed, turning on as she passed beneath them. 

Mary Margaret kept her pace steady and even, listening to the way her footsteps and the swish of her nurse’s uniform, skirt and blouse and apron, echoed into the empty hallway. 

Most of the rooms on either side of her were vacant - the little white name placards beside each door blank. Only a few were marked in black with the name of a patient. Each one matched a name on her roster. 

The door at the end of the corridor though was larger than the ones to the patient’s rooms. And instead of a plain white placard, this door had a gold one, name and title permanently etched into it.

As she reached the end of the hallway, Mary Margaret’s heels came together with a final click reverberating into the space behind her. Before the sound grew too low, too distant, she opened the door and stepped inside. 

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Hopper?”

She folded her hands in front of her as she stood just inside the room. It was bright and clean. A lamp, a desk, a chair, and bare of much else. She heard the door quietly shut behind her. 

Dr. Hopper looked up from his place behind the desk.

“Yes. Have you been to see Ms. Mills yet, Mary Margaret?”

“No, not yet.”

Nodding, he looked away from her, mindlessly shuffling a few papers stacked on top of the desk. When he turned back to face her - still standing and framed by the door - he smiled. The lines at the corners of his eyes creased under the wire rim of his glasses. 

“Well, let me explain her situation. Ms. Mills is an actress, as you know. During her last performance she fell silent and looked around as if in surprise,” he paused “She was silent for over a minute.”

The moment grew quiet as his voice resounded around them, hitting paint and plaster and plywood before the waves were too far apart to be audible. And though Mary Margaret had not yet visited Ms. Mills she did know her, or at least knew of her. 

So, as Dr. Hopper’s voice trailed off into silence it was as if Mary Margaret could see her now - as if she was standing between them, in costume and makeup. The fluorescents overhead narrowed into a single beam to cast light onto her as she stilled beneath it, looking around, lips parted, brow creased, and eyes wide and dark and shining in the spotlight. 

Then the doctor continued, and the image fell away.

“She apologized afterward, saying she had got the urge to scream. The next day the theater rang, as Ms. Mills had not come to rehearsals.”

Mary Margaret was quiet and still as she listened.

“The maid found her still in bed. She was awake but did not talk or move. This condition has now lasted for three months.”

He glanced down again at the papers before him, and Mary Margaret refolded her hands behind her so he wouldn’t see them twitching. 

“She has had all sorts of tests. She's healthy both mentally and physically. It's not even some kind of hysterical reaction. It’s as though she is under the effect of some spell, awake but unmoving, responsive but silent.”

Mary Margaret’s brow creased and she swallowed. Dr. Hopper though was looking elsewhere, face turned and fixed on the blank wall to his left. His expression was unreadable, lost in some unspoken thought. Then, as if it escaped him suddenly, he turned and faced her. 

“Any questions, Mary Margaret?”

She shook her head, and he smiled again - lips pursed as he glanced back at his stack of papers, shuffling and reshuffling them

“Well, then, you can go to Ms. Mills now.”

*

The door to Ms. Mills room was shut. Though the rooms on either side of hers were empty and their doors propped open. Mary Margaret’s eyes skirted to the placard beside the door, seeing _Regina Mills_ clearly printed in neat black script. She hadn’t written it. It would have been one of the nurses on call when Ms. Mills had been admitted. Still, Mary Margaret paused there in front of the door. Eyes lingering on the name placard, she brushed a few strands of dark hair away from her forehead and smoothed the fabric of her uniform - though the lines were crisp and pressed. 

Then she turned the knob and stepped inside. Before she could take in the room, standard size and outfit for most of the hospital’s patients, her gaze went to the woman laying prone in bed, her dark eyes already fixed on Mary Margaret. 

“Hello, Ms. Mills?”

She took another step into the room, putting on the same bright smile she used to greet her other patients. But Ms. Mills’ face did not change at the sight of it. Her face was still, apathetic and emotionless. Her hands lay limp across her stomach resting on top of the sheet pulled up just past her waist. 

Her eyes though unmistakably followed Mary Margaret. They followed her as she pulled back the curtains on the other side of the room and let the sunlight from outside stream in. And again as she turned back to check the chart at the foot of the bed. 

Mary Margaret felt a spike of tension run through her, despite her conversation with the doctor only moments ago. She walked closer to the bed, still smiling, and extended her hand. 

“How are you, Ms. Mills? I’m Mary Margaret. I’m here to look after you.”

But Ms. Mills rolled her head to the side, for the first time breaking her gaze from Mary Margaret. Her hands did not move from where they were. Dropping her own hand back to her side, Mary Margaret took a breath and tapped her fingers against the outside of her thighs before folding them in front of her and taking a step back from the bed. As she did, Ms. Mills turned her head again, and their eyes met. 

“Maybe I should tell you a little about myself.”

She waited to see if Ms. Mills would react at all, if her dark eyes would shift or lighten, if her mouth might quirk into a smile or her brow arch in curiosity. But her face remained as still as her body in the bed. Mary Margaret swallowed, and set her face in another bright smile. 

“I just finished nursing school two years ago. I graduated late because I started in the education track before changing my major midway through my second year. I’m engaged, and my fiancé owns a farm in the country. I think he’d like to sell it though. He’s ambitious.” 

She laughed. But there was a nervous edge to it, and she knew she hadn’t said anything funny. 

“My mother was also a nurse, until she got married.”

Mary Margaret paused. The smile wavered on her face, and a moment passed as they looked at each other. A quiet voice whispered at her that she had said too much, too little, and none of it about the right things at all. Swallowing, she rubbed her hands together where they were still folded in front of her. 

“I should go get your dinner tray. I think it’s chicken and fruit salad.”

She stepped closer to the bed, reaching down to adjust it so Ms. Mills would be in a more upright position. But as she leaned in, their faces came close and Mary Margaret’s fingers fumbled with the lever. She needed to bend and look to see it, but she didn’t. It seemed they were too close, abruptly close. She thought that if either of them had blinked the other would surely feel the brush of their lashes. 

It was only a moment though, because Mary Margaret spoke again.

“It looked tasty.”

Then the moment slipped even further away as Ms. Mills turned her head to the side, looking away from Mary Margaret and creating a wide arch of space between them. Taking a breath, Mary Margaret pulled back still working to adjust the bed. 

The lever was stuck, and instead of continuing to struggle with it she let the easy groove of bedside manner take over - let the friendly demeanor that had been shaken by Ms. Mills and her dark eyes and her unspoken commitment to silence and stillness ease through her. 

“Another pillow? Is that good?”

The kindness was familiar, though practiced. And Mary Margaret reached out to press her hand lightly to Ms. Mills upper arm, a small gesture of reassurance most of her patients appreciated. 

But of course Ms. Mills did not respond. She did not speak, or move, and even the low cadence of her breathing stayed the same.

And she did not turn again to look at her as Mary Margaret left and stepped back into the hallway. 

*

On her way back from the kitchens, tray laden with food and carefully balanced as she carried it to Ms. Mills’ room, she was stopped by the doctor. 

“Mary Margaret, what's your first impression?”

She turned slightly at the sound of his voice, plates clinking against the metal tray, cutlery tinging against each other. Though she smiled at him, it lost some of its luster as she thought - softening and turning down at the corners. 

“I don't know what to say, Doctor.”

She glanced down at the tray in her hands. It glinted and reflected the fluorescents overhead. And in that brief gleam Mary Margaret seemed to catch sight of Ms Mills - motionless and pale and encased in glass. But the stillness was broken as the light shifted, just as Ms. Mills’ eyes suddenly opened, dark and wide. Mary Margaret looked back up at Dr. Hopper. 

“Her face looks soft, youthful, quite beautiful really. Then you see her eyes…” 

She paused, gaze again drifting down. Then, just a breath before silence could settle, she lifted her chin and spoke, even and strong.

“She has a mean look, I think.”

Once she’d said it, she wished she hadn’t. While Dr. Hopper’s face did not change, she felt in some way that it was unlike her saying something like that about a woman she had just met, let alone a patient, let alone one who hadn’t even spoken. Lips tightening, her voice grew soft.

“I don't know. I shouldn’t…”

“What were you going to say?” 

She smiled and turned her face slightly from his. Sighing, there was a light laugh in her words as she spoke. 

“I thought I should say no to this case.”

“Why? Did something frighten you?”

Mary Margaret’s head tilted, and she looked at him surprised. But taking another breath, shallow and steady, she felt her fingers ease where they still gripped the metal meal tray. 

“No, not exactly. I think maybe Ms. Mills needs someone sterner, a nurse with more life experience. I don’t know. I might not be able to handle her.”

“Handle? In what way?”

“Emotionally.”

“Emotionally?”

Mary Margaret’s brows creased. The image of Ms. Mills confined in glass flashed again before her. But she was startled to find that as the image came into focus it wasn’t Ms. Mills, but her own face reflected back at her in the panes of glass. 

“If Ms. Mill's silence and immobility are her decision-” 

“Well?”

“That shows great determination. I might not be able to cope.”

*

The nurse, _Mary Margaret_ , was standing at the curtain. As she pulled it back, her face was set aglow from the orange and gold light outside. But then she turned to face Regina, and though the light still shone behind her, her face was cast in shadow. 

“I thought that you might want to see the sunset.” 

Regina could hear the smile in her voice, but a beat passed and the moment started to fade into silence. As it did, Mary Margaret’s expression became clearer in the dim lighting. 

Her smile had started to fade as well. 

Regina just looked at her from where she lay in bed. She did not move and did not speak and tried not to acknowledge that Mary Margaret was waiting for her to respond. 

While it wasn’t clear or important to her how long she had been checked in to the hospital, it had been some time since Mary Margaret had assumed primary responsibility for her care. In that time, Regina could not help but see, despite her best efforts, that each time Mary Margaret spoke she looked so expectant - as if she was waiting, listening for a response, as if she hoped for one. 

But Regina stayed silent.

Besides, Mary Margaret always continued on as if she had spoken, pretending like there was understanding enough between them that talking aloud might only disrupt it. 

She stepped closer to the bed. 

“Shall I turn on the radio? There is a play.”

Leaning over Regina to the table set beside the bed, she flicked on the radio. The sound was fuzzy at first, but even as it started to clear Mary Margaret still leaned over her, fingers resting lightly on the dial. So close and with the added yellow glow of the radio, Regina could see the finer points of her face. She had a soft face. The curve of her jaw was gentle, sloping easily into the long line of her neck. Her hair was darker than Regina’s, but then maybe it only seemed so because her eyes were so green and her skin was so pale. It was almost snow white. 

Regina looked at her openly, picturing her in some of the costumes and stage makeup she had once worn. Maybe one where her hair would be long and curled. Maybe one where her lips would be painted bright red, the color of candy apples. Maybe she would dress in a ball gown or armor. Maybe in burial robes…even more pallid in death than in life. 

Perhaps the maiden. Perhaps the hero. Perhaps the villain. So many roles that she might play. 

And as she looked, the moment that Mary Margaret noticed her looking did not escape her. The corner of her jaw tightened, and the muscle in her arm, still reached out towards the radio, tensed. But she did not move, except a brief jerk of her fingers to turn up the volume. 

_I'm sorry, my love! Oh, you have to forgive me._

It was some drama. Regina didn’t know it. But in another way she did. They were, so many of them, the same. Stories she had played out hundreds of times before. Friendship and tragedy. War and heartache. Love and hate and betrayal and forgiveness, and the fine line between them all. 

They were just recitations of each other - different names for the same characters playing out the same stories in new settings.

But above her, Mary Margaret eased as she listened. She even shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. Her expression was suddenly so taken, so suddenly captivated by the play, that Regina thought she might have suggested turning on the radio for her own sake. 

_I want nothing but your forgiveness._

Regina felt something inside her then, sparked by Mary Margaret and the way she listened so closely to the play. She could feel it bubbling up, making her shoulders rise and fall, her mouth open and eyes crinkle. The rhythm of her breathing shifted, bobbing her throat, and she felt so suddenly overcome with pity and anger and spite, that all she could do was laugh. 

_Forgive me and I can -_

“What are you laughing at, Ms. Mills?”

Mary Margaret was looking down at her. There was a wide smile on her face, tempered by genuine confusion. Regina was sure that the sound had surprised her, but that only made the laughter come louder.

“Is this actress so funny?”

Regina shifted a little as she lay, even bringing a hand up to cover her face. She closed her eyes, trying to stifle the quiet laughter. But then Mary Margaret, still above her, laughed too. And at that Regina pressed her palm firmer against her chin, her fingers brushing against the bridge of her nose, as the two of them laughed together. 

She wondered what Mary Margaret thought they were laughing at. 

_What do you know about mercy?_

_What do you know?_

But as the actress continued speaking, each line building in emotion, Regina’s laughter faded. The hand fell away from her face, and her teeth grit together. 

_What do you know about mercy?_

A flash of sudden fury pulsed through her. Snapping an arm out, she pressed the switch at the top of the radio, abruptly turning it off. 

Looking up at Mary Margaret, her face had grown dimmer without the soft light from the radio. But Regina’s eyes had gone wide, afraid, furious, and she could still see the gentle concern in her expression. 

It should have made her angrier, at least at herself. She had let something slip away. Though she didn’t know what, if anything, Mary Margaret had caught of it, understood of it, she knew it now hung between them like a line out of place. 

Feeling her hands start to tremble, she reached for Mary Margaret’s wrist. Maybe to keep her from turning the radio back on. Maybe to keep herself steady. Maybe just to try and grip hard enough to hurt. 

But Mary Margaret smiled at her. Leaning closer she let Regina pull at her wrist and wrap their hands together - warm and tight atop the coarse hospital sheets. 

“Ms. Mills, I don't understand those things.” 

Her voice was thick with feeling, but her gaze did not break from Regina’s. 

“I'm interested in stories and fairytales. I have a tremendous admiration for artists” she paused, and her words were more sure when she continued “I think that stories are of enormous importance in people's lives, they’re a way for us to deal with our world that doesn’t always make sense. They give us hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

They were still looking at each other, hands joined, leaning close. 

Regina eased and her body started its slow shift back to stillness. But before it did, she let her grip on Mary Margaret’s wrist loosen. Sliding her now free hand up the length of her forearm, just below the cuff of her nurse’s uniform, she could feel life pulse in the crook of her elbow. 

She was so sincere, so earnest, so _exposed_. 

But then, Mary Margaret swallowed and shook her head lightly, as if suddenly embarrassed. As if she realized she too had let something slip away and hang between them.

“I shouldn't talk about these things with you, Ms. Mills.”

She laughed. There was a grating edge to it, and Regina’s lips pursed at the sound.

“I’m on thin ice.”

Then pulling slightly back, she untangled their hands and patted softly at Regina’s still tucked into the bend of her elbow. 

“Let's see if there's some music.”

There was a smile on her face as she turned away to flick the radio back on. But as it once again cast muted yellow light into the room, Regina could see that her expression had shifted - lips together in a thin line and eyes downcast, obvious even in profile.

Toying with the dial, she tuned it so that the low melancholic notes from a violin sang out from the speaker. And when she turned again to look down at Regina, sinking into the sheets, heavier and heavier, the smile was back. 

“Is that all right?”

But of course Regina said nothing, and the radio had already been turned back on.

Leaning further down, closer than she had been even moments before, Mary Margaret took Regina’s hands in her own, placing them gently over Regina’s abdomen. They felt like weights though, pressing on the sheet and the material of her hospital gown, all the way down through to her spine and the mattress and the metal bed frame.

Mary Margaret was still smiling, and her voice was soft.

“Good night, then, Ms. Mills. Sleep well.”

Then she stood, and Regina watched her leave without another word. 

The room grew dimmer then dark, but it seemed that the song had not changed. Though Regina had rolled her head to the side, looking away from the door, she did not know how much time had passed as she lay there still and unmoving, eyes unfocused, watching the radio and listening to the same low and tuneful notes stretch on and on.

She tried to empty herself of thoughts, of memories, to let nothing but the music live inside her.

When she did at last turn to lay on her back, the violin singing its last few chords, she sighed. Raising a hand to her face she closed her eyes and thought of Mary Margaret. 

She pictured her in bed, sitting up and rubbing lotion into her hands and face, keeping her skin soft and smooth and cream colored. Her night clothes were probably plain, conservative, twisting a little at the waist as she turned to speak and fill the space and the silence as she so often did. 

But this time, her words came out exactly as Regina understood them anyway. 

“It's funny. You can go about as you please…do almost anything.”

Her gaze drifted as her hand continued to massage moisturizer just above the sharp line of her collar bone. 

“I'll marry David and have a couple of children, which I'll have to raise.”

Dropping her hand, she dipped her fingers into the small jar of lotion. 

“All of this is predestined. It's inside me. It's nothing to think about.”

She was rubbing circles again, along her cheek bones and down to the soft point of her chin, gaze still glassy and unfocused. 

“It's a safe feeling. I have a job that I like and enjoy. That's good, too. But in another way…”

Her voice trailed off, hand stilling on her face. Then, she nodded and continued. Her voice was low and tight. 

“But it's good. Good.”

But just as she’d finished speaking - turning over in bed to lay down and pull the covers up, an arm reaching out to switch off the light beside the bed - just as Regina herself eased into the darkness and the emptiness, Mary Margaret spoke again, her voice soft and unexpected but clear as if they lay together in the same room

“I wonder what’s really wrong with her. _Regina Mills_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews are welcome and very much appreciated!


End file.
